


Tension

by kesselrunon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Helmet Humping, Improper use of the Supreme Leader’s property, Masturbation, No Beta, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-TLJ, Smut, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, TROS does not exist in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesselrunon/pseuds/kesselrunon
Summary: Rey releases some pent up energy by taking something that belongs to the Supreme Leader.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 23
Kudos: 100





	Tension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theriseofswolo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theriseofswolo/gifts).



> Hello there. I’ve been a reader of fic for quite a long time and this is my first proper go at writing. No deep exploration of character here, just smut (at least, I hope).
> 
> I began writing this fic back in May after seeing [@theriseofswolo’s piece (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/theriseofswolo/status/1258630089539047425?s=21) on Twitter. It sat it my WIPs for a long while. 
> 
> Please reach out to me if I’ve missed any tags.

* * *

They sit side by side in a cramped, spartan space not much larger than the closet in her quarters. 

Since she’d agreed to let him train her, he’d locked them in a repetitive cycle of meditation and combat. Mostly meditation, to Rey’s great displeasure. 

He’d allow them to duel only after they’d sat for hours, for days and weeks at a time. Rather than her muscles weakening from disuse, her wiry frame feels tense and tight.

All her life Rey has had to _move_ in order to survive. Scrounge, scrimp, and save—work her hands and body to the bone; a scavenger, through and through. Rather than sitting here, she'd much prefer being in the room next door, with its obstacles designed to trip and ensnare, igniting her saber and feeling the push and heat from his blade against hers.

It had been weeks since their last bout. She’s not sure of the reason for the delay this time, but how she longs to sweat and feel her muscles burn from exertion; how she wishes to dispel the buzzing, growing restlessness beneath her skin.

Calm is elusive, a distant memory hard to hold. 

She breathes deeply, conscious of their chests rising and falling together. Today, the easy synchronicity that always seems to occur when he's near makes her bristle, but he sits quietly with his eyes firmly closed, seemingly unaffected by her tetchy mood. 

Rey wonders briefly what it would take to wipe that relaxed look off his face, to break his barrier of monastic serenity. Though, she’s not foolish enough to think any impropriety on her part would be rewarded with the thing she wants most: release. 

Still, she wonders.

They are close enough now that she could lean over and rest her head against his shoulder.

She imagines the expression that would appear on his face were she to willingly touch him, feeling warmth spreading low in her belly at the idea of his careful control snapping. 

Would he look down at her in confusion, end the lesson and send her away, or would he look at her with fire in his eyes, with barely-contained _want?_

The increasing wetness between her thighs makes her hope for the latter. 

_Don't be afraid, I feel it too,_ he'd told her once before, after all.

How massive his hands would feel on her arms were he to grab her, hard enough to bruise—to be dragged beneath him while he tugs down each of their trousers just enough so he can slide inside and pound relentlessly at her flesh, hand over her mouth, her throat, until tears leak from her eyes in blessed relief.

She wonders how he sounds when he’s buried deep in a wet cunt. 

Would he praise her, call her _good_? Would he sigh her name into the crook of her neck? She longs to hear it pour from his lips again, softly as it had after they’d fought together, protected each other, and he’d pleaded with her to stay with him. 

There is the possibility that he would be cruel, calling her a _whore_ like the men on Jakku who had gravely mistaken her as helpless, spitting the word at her as they ran away bloodied and limping. Out of his mouth, though, the word would be a benediction.

She’s squirming, rolling her hips side to side, trying to quell the ache between her legs, when his knee brushes hers.

The bond opens and images surge forth in her mind: dark hair buried between pinned open thighs. Fingers clawing at broad shoulders and teeth biting tender flesh. A freckled breast kissed by familiar pink, swollen lips.

Her breath catches in her throat. To her right, he _moans_.

Such a small sound, that. One she wouldn’t have detected had he not been so near, and it goes directly to Rey’s core, nipples budding as if anticipating his mouth upon them.

The steel floor cools her palm where she places a steadying hand, clearing her mind in time to see him spring to his feet and disappear through the sliding door, all hunched shoulders and coiled muscles. 

For a moment she just sits, stunned by their shared vision and needing to get her breathing under control as her heart hammers in her chest. When she rises, it's on shaking legs, and slick arousal coats her underclothes as she crosses the chamber’s threshold into the hall. 

Attempting to detect his whereabouts feels like playing with fire, Rey thinks, but she prods and pokes, even though her whole body protests the effort and she has to grip a panel along the wall just to keep from toppling. In the end she can't feel him—he had thoroughly closed their connection. Barricaded, more like.

She leans against the wall, arms by her sides and fists clenched.

Were those images of her—of _them_ —she wonders. Was it a vision of their future? Could he sense her agitation during the lesson, her ever-increasing desire for him, or was her mood the result of _his_ _own_ intrusive thoughts?

Since the moment in Rey’s hut on Ahch-To, he seemed to have gone to considerable effort to avoid touching her again, speaking to her only when instructing; using commands instead of placing his hands on her and setting her in the proper form.

 _Legs apart, hips open,_ he’d say, gaze intense. _Wider_. 

Sometimes Rey would feign confusion, antagonize him by standing in the opposite stance, or grip her saber too near the beam—just to test his limits. The result was always the same: he’d level his dark eyes at her, brows furrowed as he worked his mouth in that way that drove her wild and exhale deeply, disapprovingly, until she’d sigh and correct the grievance. 

He'd never given her an indication he thought of her at all. Until now. 

Her cheeks burn, remembering the image of her legs spread open for him, with his tongue licking _there;_ it’s both humiliating and thrilling.

On Jakku, she’d heard conversations, whispers and giggles about techniques, or lack thereof, between pleasure slaves who’d wander near Niima Outpost in the hope of enticing customers. 

_He lapped from my pussy like a lothcat with a bowl of cream,_ one woman had said, snickering as she told the tale. 

Her eyes had widened at that particular term, and before then, she hadn’t even known pleasure might be elicited from such an activity, or that a partner would _want_ to give pleasure in this way. 

Rey sighs, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

What would they say to each other with the knowledge they now possess? She balks at the thought of them discussing their shared vision. How _could_ they discuss it? He barely speaks to anyone, let alone to _her._

She wonders if he’ll simply send her away, have her dropped off on Jakku or another horrible desert planet to die miserable and alone, rather than deal with the situation.

Rey shoves off the wall, having decided she’s not going to wait for him any longer.

The walk gives her time to calm her nerves, and she lets her feet carry her where they please, not particularly caring which direction she turns in the ship’s vast halls as long as she’s moving. 

Every so often she reaches out, hoping she’ll detect him in a moment of vulnerability so she can slither past his mental guards, but he’s locked himself well away.

The halls are strangely deserted, devoid of the usual crowd of stormtroopers and uniformed officers going about their duties. Perhaps they went scurrying and sought refuge in their barracks after seeing him storm out of the training quarters, ready to strike at anyone who came too near.

Whatever the reason, Rey's thankful to be rid of their presence.

She turns a unfamiliar corner, intending to take the long route back to her room, and comes upon a set of wide sliding doors.

She’s not sure why she approaches—drawn, perhaps, by the strange symbols engraved in the matte black steel—but when she does, they open. 

She feels it the moment she crosses the invisible boundary: these are the Supreme Leader’s quarters. 

Being here is something she can't take back, something she won't be able to hide from him. 

He’ll know. 

He’d been able to detect her from across the galaxy, after all, so why not in his own room aboard the same ship?

She steps gingerly inside.

The room is blindly bright and minimal, with glossy white walls. It’s almost cheerful. In truth, Rey had always imagined a claustrophobic, shadowed cell, too small for his large frame; utilitarian, used only for sleeping.

She surveys the space. There are few items scattered throughout: a narrow bed in the corner, a table with a holopad on top, and several pedestals sporting various baubles and trinkets. Items of some significance to be displayed in such a manner, Rey assumes. 

A familiar shape catches her eye. Atop the centermost pedestal sits his mask. She hadn’t seen him wear it again since that awful moment with Han on the bridge at Starkiller Base. 

Rey is puzzled by the bright red gash, so similar to the scar on his face, fusing it together. She trails a finger over it and her skin vibrates from the contact as she imagines him leaning into her touch, eyes locking with hers as he places a kiss on her palm.

She’s not sure how the mask winds up in both hands, but suddenly she’s placing it on the floor where she stands and shoving at her trousers and boots until only her arm wraps, underclothes, and faded tunic remain.

The hard floor is not an ideal surface, but she can't imagine using his bed for _this_ particular task—that would be far too intimate. And there would be the risk of leaving evidence, of wrinkling his sheets, staining them with her sweat and her fluids.

She lowers herself to straddle the black, domed steel. The material is blissfully cool on her overheated thighs, and she all but groans when her weight settles firmly on her mound.

She doesn't—she _won’t_ —consider the possibility of being discovered, of him walking in now to see her kneeling before the pedestal like an offering at his altar. 

She can be quick.

Bringing both hands to rest atop the mask, Rey rocks her hips experimentally, hearing the sticky sounds of her arousal spread over her honeyed lips and open her wide. She whines as her little bundle of nerves make contact with the coarse material of her underwear, the friction overwhelming as she grinds upon it.

The first orgasm jolts through her, abdominal muscles taut and vision going white as her cunt weeps. 

She can’t hear it yet, but she knows she’s gasping raggedly, unevenly, because she feels the burn in her throat and lungs as they beg for air. Sweat beads at her lower back and all over her skin is flush and warm and pink. 

She pulls her sopping underwear to the side, hissing when her exposed folds glide effortlessly against the craggy surface of his mask.

What would he do if he could see her now, quivering and wet all over? 

Rey imagines his strong thigh, imagines locking her knees around it and riding until she cries. He’d grip her waist, lean down to whisper huskily in her ear. 

_You’ve been so lonely, haven’t you, Rey? So pent up and needy._

Rey remembers every lonely moment on Jakku, toiling in the heat during the day and sweltering with an altogether different heat at night—one that settled between her legs, and even the desert air blowing across her sensitive skin was enough to send her fingers skittering beneath her threadbare underwear, rubbing until her body quaked and sleep finally took her. 

For him, though, she’d whimper at his strong hands guiding her and pressing her firmly along the corded muscles of his thigh, contrasting so nicely with the smooth leather of his trousers. 

_Use me. Take whatever you want, Rey._

It’s not enough.

Rey yanks her tunic over her head, not caring when she hears the fabric tear along the ragged seams that had been repaired again and again and again. The bindings wrapped around the delicate weight of her breasts chafe her nipples, until she unwraps them too and grasps at the tender peaks. 

She rubs her cunt forcefully into the mask, knees digging into the floor, raw and red. She leans forward, locks her fingers into the mask’s silver grating, and the new angle brings tears to her eyes that well up and spill down her cheeks.

It’s the thought from earlier—of her riding his thigh, of him kissing along her breasts and closing his mouth around them, sucking as he looks up at her—that has her coming, messy and mumbling his name over and over.

_“Ben, Ben, Ben, fuck—Ben!”_

The words come out on a whine—one that muffles the doors opening and the heavy gait of stomping boots.

She slumps, head bent, legs splayed, and body lax. Her own juices drip down her hands where they still grip the grating of his mask—drip onto the floor, wetting her sore knees and the clothes she deposited in her hasty removal. 

A dark shape catches the corner of her eye. 

She stills, suddenly aware of his presence in the room and through the bond. 

Fat tears cling to her eyelashes and stain her pink cheeks as she looks up at him, slowly raising her chin. 

His eyes trail her body, settling at the junction of her wet thighs atop his mask.

“Show me,” he says reverently, and her body shivers anew.


End file.
